a customer! I’m about to hurry over and say to Nicole, “What do you think you’re doing?” when I see Uncle Ned behind me.
“I’ll just take a few more bits and pieces,” he says happily, reaching for an eggcup. “Now, Fixie, do you stock such a thing as a toast rack?”
“Um, Uncle Ned, about the friends-and-family discount—” I begin, but I’m cut off by Jake striding back onto the shop floor.
“The whole place clearly needs a rethink,” he’s saying airily to Bob, who looks a bit freaked out. “I think the priority has got to be a hardwood floor, don’t you?”
A hardwood floor? A priority?
“Greg!” Nicole suddenly screeches. “Not like that. Don’t you know anything about Instagram?”
“You fancy the guy next door…” Morag is reading aloud from her questionnaire, looking utterly perplexed. “What do you do about it? One: Look him up on Tinder….”
Blood is thumping through my temples as I look from Morag, peering at her questionnaire, to Nicole, who’s trying to balance a saucepan on her outstretched fingers while Greg takes a photo. I turn to gaze at Uncle Ned, still contentedly filling his basket up with our stuff, and then Jake, who is now talking to Bob about the “Ralph Lauren look.”
I don’t know where to start.
I think I’m going a bit mad.
“Hey, Fixie,” comes Stacey’s sardonic voice in my ear. “I know they’re your family and all.” She pauses and leans closer. “But they’re shit.”
For a flustered moment I don’t know how to respond.
“No, they’re not!” I retort at last, trying to sound convinced. “That’s totally…They’re…” I wince as Nicole drops the saucepan with a clatter and exclaims, “Oh, it’s dented now! Greg, get another one.”
“Look at them,” says Stacey, unmoved. “They don’t know anything about Farrs. All I’m saying is…you better watch out.”
* * *
—
When I get home that evening, I’m bone-weary. It’s been exhausting trying to wrangle each member of the family in turn. Uncle Ned was “offended to the core” that I’d thought he was trying to purloin goods for free. “Naturally” he’d only meant a 40 percent discount.
So then I had to explain that our discount is 20 percent. Whereupon his mouth curled up and he put back the teapot and the tablecloth.
Greg and Morag finally completed their psychological questionnaires, then vigorously disputed the results. Morag, in particular, was highly offended to be told she was a Goat. It didn’t help that Nicole started her spiel by saying, “The Goat is what we call a negative personality, so you might want to work on your positive qualities, Morag.”
Morag went all pink and huffy, but Nicole didn’t even notice. Meanwhile, Greg had looked all the profiles up online and decided he wanted to be a Lion. But Nicole said he couldn’t be a Lion, he was the opposite of a Lion. So he answered the whole questionnaire again with different answers but he still wasn’t a Lion, he was a Pony. Whereupon he sulked for the rest of the day.
I’m sure all this personality stuff makes sense with a trained, tactful person doing it. But Nicole isn’t trained or tactful. All she’s achieved is to upset people. Only of course I couldn’t say anything negative in public, so I filled one out myself and listened while Nicole explained it to me. I can’t even remember what I was—maybe a Panda? (Stacey refused to do hers. She said, “I know which personality I am already. I’m Stroppy Bitch.”)
Then we tried to look at how Nicole’s yoga class was going to work and nearly had a massive row in public, because all she kept saying was, “You promised me space, Fixie, you promised me space,” but didn’t seem to have any idea where the space should come from. We compromised in the end by getting rid of the leisure section, reducing the baking section, and halving the glassware, but it’s not ideal.
At least I managed to talk Jake out of booking hardwood-flooring companies to come and quote next week. But I gave in over the “relaunch.” He wants to throw a party and invite “cool people” and “influencers” and “put Farrs on the map.”
I mean, whatever. If he can get some cool people to come along to Farrs, then good luck to him.
I dump my bag and jacket in the hall, head to the kitchen, and stop in delight. Ryan is sitting at the table, drinking a beer, watching the news on our tiny TV, and scrolling down his phone. He looks so